Mongrel
by scriberevivere
Summary: Hermione has returned to the muggle world after the war. She is avoiding everything about the old world, but then she adopts a familiar face. Could it be, or is this just wishful thinking.
1. Chapter 1

The blast of light hit him in the chest. He was still laughing, his eyes bright with excitement and malicious humor. The smile lingered on his face as he flew backwards threw the vail. The black shroud fluttered as if it was being clutched at by an invisible breeze. Sirius Black knew no more. He didn't hear Harry's cries, didn't see the tear stained face. He didn't see the light leaving Remus's eyes, as he restrained the boy-who-lived and the look of shattered innocence a shellshocked Hermione was wearing. He ceased to be. Sirius Orion* Black III was no longer.

Five years later

"it's not that I don't think you can protect yourself, I just wish you'd move somewhere safer." he ran his hands through his hair, raising his head to fix her with a pained stare.

"you mean somewhere where you can watch me, just to check I'm not cracking up?" she murmured, her apparent apathy in direct conflict with her words.

"hermione it's not like that. You know that. I know you're not cracking up, I do, I just worry about you." he knew he was pleading, but he had to try, just like he did every time.

"don't Harry." Hermione payed for her coffee and pushed her chair back. The fog had returned, settling around her brain. She ignored Harry and left the Starbucks. "don't worry bout me Harry, even I don't anymore" she muttered.

Her new apartment was five blocks away, not that harry knew she was living so close by. They worried about her, and she abstractly understood why. Not that her understanding negated her annoyance at being treated like a rambunctious first year.

She wasn't the same girl anymore. Hermione granger, the brightest witch of her year had ceased to exist. They didn't understand what had happened, would never quiet comprehend. So to them, this was all very odd. Someone had stolen away their lively friend and returned a sullen changeling. The husk of hermione granger was a volunteer librarian who worked as an editor from home. She immersed herself in the fictional, it helped. She would wake up, have her coffee, read, edit, notate and then sleep. Normally she remembered to eat something. At first, she had gotten an office job, and failed. It was too much, the crowded subway, the people, the coworkers, the tiny cubical that shrank with each passing day. The noises of the city made her jumpy. The whosh of passing cars was too much like an impending curse. She did know what was wrong, she had PTSD, she thought. But, like so many things, that couldn't be helped. No muggle phycologist would help a woman claiming to be a witch without first having her incarcerated in the nearest sanatarium.

So she had chosen to work from home. Home was a tiny walk up apartment. It was cheap and clean and she liked it. it was nothing like hogwarts, or her old room. The walls were cream and pale celery, the kitchen was all polished wood and stainless steel. She had moved most of her parents appliances into the house, seeing as they would no longer need them. she had their old leather living-room set, and a narrow, anemic bed that she rarely slept in.

As she walked along, she turned and caught the gaze of the woman next to her, peering out from the window. She was twenty years old but it felt like forty. She wore a grey pencil skirt and a coral cardigan. Instead of taming her hair, she had given up the war of attrition and kept it an an austere librarian bun. She tried to read the reflections expression. Was she happy? Did she know what she was doing? She raised a hand, pressing it against the glass, she leaned forward as if she could slip through the looking glass. The window remained unyielding. Maybe here was a charm that would let her vanish, or a potion that would make her obsolete. Her wand was in her jewelry box, at home. Here magic was behind her. This hermione granger didn't do magic, ever. To do magic was to acknowledge all she has left behind. To validate that old life.

She walked down the cracked pavement, reflecting. Maybe Harry was right. Her neighborhood was dangerous. But then again, it was nothing compared with the wizarding world she had left behind. Hermione had done the right thing, she had lasted till the end, fought in the final battle, buried the dead. Then she had left. Her parents were interred, down below. She had no ties to hold her. So she left, in the middle of the night. She moved out of Grimald place, left Diagon alley forever. She had prepared letters for Harry and molly, telling them she was ok, and that she needed time. That had been five years ago. Three years ago, she had sent Harry a letter, and agreed to meet him for coffee. They met every other Sunday, Harry told hermione about her old friends, not that she wanted to know, and she drank expensive black coffee and tried not to look crazy. She knew she wasn't crazy, not that she hadn't thought to consider it. She was happy, not deliriously so, not wildly so, but she did have a simple feeling of contentment. She missed crookshanks terribly, but she would never have another cat. The half kneasle had been just another victim, someone who got too close to hermione granger the witch. The war had taught her one thing, reliance is overrated, and self sufficiency is equivalent to survival. She didn't want Harry and god forbid Ron swarming down on her. She could take care of herself.

Lost in thought Hermione didn't see the heaving cracked pavement, and sprawled, he over heals. Grimacing she picked her self up and squared her shoulders. She wished she could go back, go back to when magic was magic, when every room didn't have a ghost, where everyone got what they deserved, good and bad.


	2. Chapter 2

_ The dog was huddled at the end of the alley way. Somehow it had wedged its self between a dust bin and the wall. As the grey clouds of London succumbed to their burden the rain pelted the sleeping city. The light pitter patter rose to a soaking deluge and the dog stirred. As he slunk out of the alley it became apparent as to how it had fit. It was an emaciated carcass, each rib rising out the the matted fir, only to have the skin plunge into the empty chasm before the next bonny ridge. It sniffed, lifting its head to catch a swooping breeze. The cold air set the dog shivering. It turned it head, looking for something, then it lowered it again, and dejectedly trudged off. _

Hermione stretched, curling and uncurling her fingers. She clambered off the couch and ponderously made her way to the kitchen. For someone who was only twenty, she often felt like she could be three times that. She set the kettle on the hob and retreated back to the couch, trying to straiten it up, or at least reduce the impression she had slept on it. Lost in thought she almost didn't hear the desperate whistling of the kettle. She rose and poured the boiling water over some loose leaf earl grey, loving the swirling aroma that twined with the steam, caressing her face. turning she crossed to the fridge, opening it at staring despondently at the bottle oh HP sauce, branston pickle, two percent milk and a grand total of two apples. She would have to go shopping soon. The door swung shut in her wake as she sailed back into the living room, flipping open her laptop she looked balefully at the black screen. She couldn't be bothered to switch it on. Instead she collapsed against the cushioned back of the sofa and sipped her tea

She couldn't be sure how long she sat there, staring at the wall. Long enough for her tea to grow cold. Long enough for the rain to stop. Finally the insistent growls from her stomach forced her up and propelled her into the kitchen. She at an apple that tasted like sawdust and returned to her post, watching the blank wall. She fell asleep like that, the cup slipping from her fingers, rolling across the floor.

The next day progressed much the same. Wake, tea, sit, tea, walk, tea, sleep. Had Hermione Granger still been Hermione Granger she would have cringed at this lackadaisical behavior. But she wasn't, so she didn't.

On the third day she got up early, made the couch, took a shower. The warm water left her feeling dull and empty. With respect to her impending shopping trip she dressed properly, no yoga pants. Instead she dug out an old sweater, kept because of the enduring softness of cashmere, and a pair of black jeans. The sweater hung from her birdlike shoulders just as the jeans barley clung to her protruding hips. As the solo apple and mixed spreads in her fridge suggest, a health diet was not part of the new Hermione Granger.

Cautiously, she pulled a polished teak box from under the disused bed. Her fingers shaking, she raised the lid. The pale glow from the shimmering bowl illuminated her face. Before she had taken her magical leave of absence [some said 'before she went off the rails] Hermione had been entrusted with the memory collection of Albus Dumbledoor, as well as the memories of those who were gone. She had diligently watched each one, cataloged what happened, who made an appearance, and where it fell chronologically. She had also copied much of the collection. While she was perfectly happy to sever ties with the wizarding world, she was not perfectly happy to sever ties with her friends. Not quite yet. The memories had been eye opening about so many people. She finally understood Dumbledoor level of manipulation. She understood Snape's abysmal behavior and pent up resentment. She understood so much more. She knew that a pensive, while desperately useful, could also be abused. So, she limited herself to two hours a week.

When her head finally surfaced from the brimming basin she was crying. She sniffled, and wiped her eyes with a tissue. The box had long since become a necessary companion for these trips down memory lane. She stood on shaky legs and crept out of her apartment and on to the mean streets of London.

She felt the man before she saw him. A presence behind her, the slow, even thwack of shoes on pavement. Pausing to retie her trainers and got a good look of the man behind her, her hands on her laces stilled and her heart stuttered to a halt. He was tall and dark, with a leather coat, dark shoes, dark pants and glasses. As he pushed the sleeve of the jacket back to check the watch resting on his wrist, she saw the faint black line of the tell tail tattoo. She straiten, nodding to him as he passed. Then Hermione turned and ran. She pelted past the shops, past the houses and into the slums. She couldn't stop running. Her muscles ached and her lungs burned but still she ran.

Finally, fatigue weighting heavily on her, she slipped. The slick ground made a poor track and her feet slid out from under her, sending her careening into a dust bin. Hermione was temporarily stunned, gazing up at he bleak sky. Then something wet pressed into her palm. A large black dog stood over her, it nudged her hand again, its tail swinging gently.

"Snuffles?" she breathed.


	3. Chapter 3

Snuffles, if that was indeed the dog, nudged her face. Hermione blinked, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and struggled to her feet. The dog sat down, looking up at her. Hermione scoffed, Ron was right. She had lost it, she was round the bend. This was a dog, and while it might look almost exactly like Snuffles, the last time she had seen Snuffles she had still been a teenager. She could remember a lot about her time in Hogwarts, she could still see their faces, which was part of the problem, but she was seriously skeptical that she could differentiate between two shaggy, thin dogs. She wasn't a dog person, in fact Hermione was almost a perfect cat person, that being said, the dog was very thin.

Ron and Harry had always teased her about her big heart. Almost everyone had. Her exploits in hat and sock making were the stuff of Hogwarts legend. Regardless of the magical laws of reincarnation, and even if this dog was nothing like Sirius, it was starving and it was looking up at her with large, silver-grey eyes.

Hermione crinkled her brow, she leant down staring intently into the dog's eyes. They were indeed silver. Not just milky, or muted blue, but silvery-grey. Hermione had only seen eyes like these on one person. It was unnerving. Most animals are intelligent, with those sort of soulful, expressive eyes. These eyes were haunted, wide and deep and unfathomably dark. Hermione felt all the blood draining from her face. She licked her suddenly dry lips, she had seen these eyes for the first time when she was fourteen. They had stared up at her from the dusty floor of the shrieking shack, a man with nothing left to loose except the son the son of his dead best friend, who had been, at that moment, holding him at wand point.

"Sirius" she whispered, half expecting the act of utterance to snap her out of her dream and back to her couch. The dog looked up, cocking his head slightly to the left.

"Snuffles? Padfoot?" she tried. The straggly black tail thumped on the cement.

Hermione had read about death, about the ministry and the research. She had run the calculations, done the sums, even consulted divination. She had never, ever, found any reference to this. Then again, Sirius had achieved his animagus very early, and maintained it for many years, almost continuously. She had no figures or statistics, but it was unlikely many other wizards had the same set of circumstances around their animagus and their death. Perhaps, perhaps all this was possible.

Hermione stood up, brushed her hands on her pants and fished in her pocket for a tenner.

"Come one Snuffles," she headed out of the alley, looking back for the dog, "You'll be needing a bath and a proper dinner."

He followed her down the street, slightly behind her, head down, trudging along. She looked back,

"Well, come on then chum" He looked up, and Hermione could have sworn their was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he lopped up to walk among side her. She felt better than she had felt in years. Her head wasn't as foggy, her step was lighter, she was more alive.

Hermione and Snuffles walked in silence and Hermione was embarrassed to realize she didn't know where her grocery store was. When she was too hungry to ignore it, she left her apartment and bought food. She was ashamed to say it, but often, before she left the house she would pop a few Validol. They normally stopped her seeing things. Unfortunately, no death eaters meant no sense of direction.

Finally she stumbled upon a corner grocers. She slipped in, finding steak, apples a chocolate bar and some rice. She payed, and thanked the greying cashier.

"Do you live around here Dearie?"

Hermione paused,

"Yes, I'm just getting settled in"

The woman smiled

"Best of luck Dearie, your pup is waiting for you." She pointed her wrinkled finger outside where Snuffles had laid down, his head resting dolefully on his paws.

Hermione waved, thanked the woman again and headed out. Snuffles looked up as she came outside, wagging his tail and snuffling around the bag.

Hermione proffered the treat the woman had given her,

"Even as a dog, you still have a way with the ladies Padfoot."

If he had been human, he would have been chuckling.


End file.
